The Planters' advocate. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1875-187?, November 29, 1875, Image 1

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The Planters’ Advocate A. & ff, a, MARSCHALK, Editors and Proprietors, LIFE’S AUTUMN. 1 lu* last wan petals leave the rose, The latest swallows plume for flight! 1 teW K ° ne where no one knows, U itn dead men’s love, and spent vear’s liht And warm hearts buried out of sight. ’ lied roses are the crown of youth • i. * h t TiJ rm ]i 3 ht strikes on lover's lips: 1-iiiKh through and fondle happy mouth, r 'i" lenllmr ’ BWWt time slii>, Dwth hurries on with fufl eclipse. So short, w smll O, let not Death IV f*Jed flowers and wine, Ti?n. h Kry for the i°yous breath •hat dreams not of the year’s decline, h i.tvs his cold white mouth to thine! 1 ling to the flying hours; and yet Let one pure hope, one great desire, Like song on dying lips lie set, i hat ere we fall in scattered fire. Our hopes may lift the world’s heart higher. Here in the autumn month of Time, before the great New Year can break, •Some little way our feet should climb, ‘>ome little mark our words should make l'or liberty and manhood’s sake! Clear brain and sympathetic heart Spirit on flame with love for man ; Hands swift to labor, slow to part— II any good since time iiegan, i he soul can fashion, such souls can. Arid so when we are dead and past rhe undying world will some day reach Its glorious hour of dawn at last, M “V SSh. A MODEL BOY. The first time I saw Pino he was lying on the wall of the public garden in Venice, fishing with a pin-hook. Ho apparently consisted of two brown hare legs and a thing of shreds and patches called trousers. The rest-of him was hanging over the lagoon. Halloo, young man,” said I; “stay v here you are a minute. I want to make a sketch of you.” lli' lilted his head and showed me •me of thoes delicious child-faces that belong only to Da Vinci’s angels. I wo great innocent brown eyes looked frankly and steadily into mine. The mouth wore that sweet shadowy smile which Leonardo cast over the lips of all his women and children. I extended my hand. The young fisherman dropped his pin-hook and ~,75 . dln gy httle paw therein. 1 his is more than mere circum 'tjuce, I said; “this is an affinity. I will take this child unto my heart and iflopt him while I stay in Venice. I ;im a poor lonely Bohemian; this de- boy is also a Bohemian, judg ing from his elothes. Let us be beg gars and happy together.” 1 ended by proposing that he should >lmre my humble home and fortunes, provided his mother would let him’ (TGclll hrneVino, amuse the dogs, make himself generally iLseful, ami pose for me by the hour. “ I will,” he cried, tumbling off* the wall. “Come along, Illustrissimo.” So we went home to the du\l abode of poverty. I introduced Pipo to the World, Sin, and the Flesh. Don’t tremble in your virtuous shoes. They were only my dogs—poor outcast curs that drifted with the tide in the lagoon to my door. They were lean, hungry eyed creatures, always on the alert for blows and kicks. What better friends could an unrecognized artist have than three drowning,starving, miserable dogs? They were four-footed epigrams against fortune. It was too late to begin work that I could only form high hopes of I’ipo on canvas. We partook of a frugal repast. Pipo was initiated into the use of the fork. Then I offered for his consideration the first of a series of lectures on the manly art of washing plates. Hitherto the dogs had neatly polished them and I had merely touched them up with the towel. This is the poetry of the artist’s life. And yet, now that I have made me a name, now that friends and honor and fame are mine, I long with a wistful sadness for those dear old days in far-off Venice. Something I have lost which then made life glorious. If I could only step out into my loggia at sunset, after a hard day’s work, and Hear in the rustle of the trees in the garden, in the roar of the surf at the Udo, in the vesper bell sweeping over the lagoon, “The world is an infinite possibility. Go forth in the might of thy genius and youth and conquer the realm.” I painted Pipo just as he was, in his rags and his dirt and his angelic im pishness. I wanted to paint him semi-nude, for the sake of that ripe golden skin of his. But I felt that my picture was destined for American eyes and I merely enlarged the holes in his garments. Pipo began to manifest an alarming fondness for brushes and colors. “Is it possible that I may prove the Cimabue to this Giotto?” I queried. “Giotto tended sheep and Pipo fished with a pin-hook. Better that he should dredge mud from Venetian canals all his life. He shall never wield the brush with my consent.” This model boy of mine had one vice which all my efforts could not uproot from his youthful breast. He had the face of an angel, but he used language that would have brought a blush to the cheeks of a shipload of pirates. Pipo soon settled to his own satisfac tion that when I went to America he was to go likewise. I encouraged the idea from educational motives. “Pipo, how long is it since you washed your face?” Pipo counted his fingers. “A week.” “Well, when you go to America, i*ipo, my boy, you’ll have to wash your face every day, and your hands too, for there, my Venetian aristocrat, the people have a plebeian prejudice in favor of cleanliness.” Pipo went off and, returning, said, with a Confidential smile, “Me clean now; me go to America. ” Pipo came to me shortlv after and with a graceful how offered me a cigarette from a package in which he had just invested. It was Saturday; our weeks work was done; we had squared accounts, and Pipo felt like a millionaire. I accepted and lighted it. “Look here, young man, when you go to America you’ll have to give up the use of the weed. In the land of the free, and so forth, my friend, little bovs of eight are not expected to he quite as far advanced in dissipation as old fel lows of twenty.” Thus did I administer moral instruc tion in small doses to my untutored savage. Things began to look black in the lit tle old house on the lagoon. Pipo and I had been subsisting for some time on shipwreck rations. Never a foot pressed my humble threshold with intent to order pictures. Robinson Crusoe and Friday were not more en tirely alone on the Island than were Pipo and I there in that water-bound cottage with only our own bright dreams and the prophetic glory of sea and sky to keep us from utter wretchedness." I was up to the ears in debt with Pipo at this time. But he understood my position and did not" dun me. He was a dear good fellow, this Pipo of mine, and would rather have gone cigarette less to the end of his davs than have brought me face to face with insolvency by asking for centimes. “I am poor, Pipo,” I said, at last, openly and calmly; “poor as a church mouse or an artist.” “I’ll tell you something, padrone mio, that will bring you good luck,” answered Pipo, looking at me with his great earnest eyes. “ What is it?” “You see, me want two cents—me buy.” 1 collected the required amount with some difficulty and cautioned Pipo to he careful how he laid it out. He came back with a small cage in liis hand, containing three great black crickets. “ They bring you good luck, padrone. Lverybody in Venice keeps them in the spring.” “ Well, I haven’t much faith in them, myself, not being a child of the south, sunken in superstition and slavery, but we will hang them over the fire Diace aim see wnauturns up. The crickets -sang on bravely for a week and did their best to bring me good fortune, I have no doubt, poor beasts. One morning I took down the cage, and behold there were only two legless torsos of crickets. Their am putated limbs lay about the floor of the cage in expressive confusion. The third had emigrated. Later I found him half cremated behind the fire place. “Pipo,” I said mournfully, “your crickets are a delusion and a snare.” One morning, not long after, I was painting as usual, and Pipo was posing patiently before me. Suddenly there came a loud ring at the door. What could it be? Creditors I had none and visitors never. The dogs began to howl. I looked at myself. I wore a coat with fifty-two patches; I told Pipo to keep his attitude. I put on a bold face, and, by way of encouragement, composed as I went to the door anew paragraph for my future biography in the “Livesof Distinguished American Artists:” “It is related of him that even at this early stage of his career he had such confidence in the might and power of his genius that he did not hes itate to answer his own door-bell in a ragged coat.” A white-haired gentleman stepped into the hall. The dogs swarmed over him at once. “ I have been told there was an art ist living here,” he said, looking about him. “ Down, my dears, down, I beg of you.” “ I am the artist, or at least I try to be one.” I thought his face looked familiar. I remembered then who he w r as. The winter I was in Rome I heard a good deal about him —a benevolent old fel low who hunted out poor artists and helped them on. He had had a son mad after art, and refused to let him study. The boy ran aw T ay from home, came to Europe, minted awhile Dope or a brilliant career, and then rail ing ill died of sheer poverty and noth ing else. And so the father did what little he could to atone for his fault, Oh, I remembered him well. I ushered him into the studio. “That’s a very nice little hoy,” he said, pattingPipo’s shaven pate. ‘‘ Docs he go to school?” “He does not. He revels in igno rance and smokes.” “Ah, I see you are painting his por trait —a young fisherman. Beautiful thing! Is it ordered?” I forced a palid smile. “ Orders are not plentiful in this establishment. I am painting entirely for glory at pres ent. “ Then w ould you allow me to secure it for a friend at home who is making a collection of native art? Could you finish it by the end of the month? And I know that artists must have brushes and colors. I should like to leave an instalment, if you will permit me.” He laid a purse on the table. “Nevermind thanks; I had a son once myself. Come up and see me at the hotel.” With his dear old face all aglow with kindness he started for the door. He CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, MONDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 29, 1875. waved me good-bye with his umbrella. Come up and see me and we’ll talk it all over.” “Come to my arms, O most blessed of I lpos. It’s all through you and your crickets!” . Who says that ravens no longer min ister to the needs of hungry prophets ? V\ ho says that angels walk not abroad m human guise ? Ihe dogs barked for delight, and I ipo and I danced a jig for joy. I’ rom that day onward life prospered amain. Friends gathered about, my orders assaulted me on every side, and I exchanged the picturesque poverty of the house on the lagoon for the sumptu ous hall of a palace on the Grand Canal. I ipo stayed with me until I left Venice. He pleaded hard to he taken to Ameri ca, but I felt that there he would be misunderstood. His innocent fondness for the weed would be labelled “ Juve nile depravity;” his poetic raggedness would he accounted squalor. So I left him in that beautiful city, where the marble domes rise from the water like great white lilies, and the boats dance over the sea like scarlet winged birds. There, where life is all one golden afternoon, I left my Pipo. V e had borne joy and sorrow together and the parting was hard. And wher ever I go I carry about with me the memory of two innocent child-eyes which finds its way continually on to my canvas And when I hear the critics say, “How much this face re minds me of Da Vinci,” I laugh half wistfully, and think of the tender child mouth that smiled up at me from the garden wall that lonely summer even ing in far-off* Venice. The Boys’ Rooms. We wish especially, says Scaibner’s to urge upon mothers the propriety of giving up to the boys, as soon as they reach the age of twelve or fourteen, one room (not a bedchamber), for whose (reasonably) good order they shall be responsible, and which they shall con sider wholly their own. The floor should be uncarpeted, of oiled wood; the furniture of the same material. Let it be papered, curtained, decorated according to the boys’ own fancy; if the taste is bad, they will be interested after awhile in correcting it. There should be plain bookcases, a big solid taole in the center, by all means an open fire, and room after; that, for Joe’s tools, or Sam’s cabinet of minerals; for chess and checker boards, or any other game which is deemed proper. To this room the boys should be allowed to invite their friends, and learn how to be hospitable hosts even to the ex tent of an innocent little feast now r and then. Father,'mother and sisters should refrain from entering it except as guests; and our word for it, they will be doubly honored and welcomed when they do come. Somebody will ask, no doubt, what is the use of pampering boys in this way, or of catering to them with games and company? Simply because they will have the amusement, the games and company somehow and somewhere; and if not under their father’s roof, with such quiet surround ings as befit those who are to be bred as gentlemen, the games may be gam bling, and the company and supper those which’the nearest tavern affords. As for the cost, no money is ill spent which develops in a right direction a boy’s healthy character of idiosyncra sies at the most perilous period of his life, or which helps to soften and humanize him, and to make more dear and attractive his home and family. If it can be ill spared, let it be with drawn for this purpose from dress, household luxury, the sum laid by for a rainy day —even from other charities and duties. We do not wish to help the lad sow his wild oats, but take care that the oats are not wild, and are thoroughly well sown. A Mystery in Maine. —A large mound stands near the Maine Central track, about a mile from the village of Cumberland Centre, and in plain sight from the road. Mr. Sweat, a track man, has several times lately seen two men standing near the mound and pointing toward it. Last Tuesday morning the mound was discovered to then down five feet. The prints of a box w’ere plainlv discernable, tw T o and a half feet long by one and a quarter feet broad. Mr. Sweat’s description of one of the men answers to a man named Elisha Philips, aged about seventy years, who is a native of the village, and was convicted twenty or twenty five years ago in Massachusetts for rob bing a Boston bank. At the time he pretended to be able to point out where the treasure was bid to the officers, but ran away from them and w as afterwards recaptured. His term of imprison ment must have expired not very long ago, and the villagers think he has re turned for the bank treasure. Here’s -richness! A young man named Rowe was arrested in Muncie, Ind., Tuesday, charged with stealing money from the eyes of a corpse, with which he was sitting up. The amount taken was seventy-five cents. Here’s philosophy: “The particles that day before yesterday, were grains of wheat, and yesterday, were nerve and muscle, to-day are sparkling thought. Hence life; hence oysters and all other folks.” PLANTATION TOPICS. NORTHERN EXPERIENCE ON SOUTHERN SOIL. The natives of any country or region, accustomed to a routine handed down from father to son for generations, are very apt to be blind to the faults of the system of agriculture practiced am ong them. It is easier to run in the old ruts than to break out new paths. It requires no outlay of thought, and they follow the beaten track, no matter how devious. A stanger, coming in contact with conditions of climate, soil and labor, new to him, finding the routine to which he lias been accustomed broken up, and being compelled to study the novel problems before him, is far more likely to find new and bet ter ways of doing things. If candid and free from prejudice, he will examine with respect the methods pursued by his new neighbors, many of the details of which are the results of long experi ence, and will adopt them, so far as he finds them apparently good; but while learning many valuable lessons, he will, in return, teach those around him— that Is if they, too, be found willing to learn—some things which they, from being so wedded to their old ways, would not otherwise have found out. We may laugh at the blunders which the northern farmer, commencing op erations in the south, is pretty sure to make, even if he be not particularly conceited, but, ten to one, he will, if he perseveres, make a better southern farmer than a majority of those to the manor born. A correspondent of the Country Gentleman, writing from Aiken, S. C., furnishes a case in point, and also a good illustration of the ad vantages which the south holds out to immigrants from the north and west. The writer was a New Yorker —a business man —broken down in health, and seeking, first of all, rest and recu peration. At Aiken he found a large number of old residents, who, origi nally brought there to die, had re mained there summer and winter, and in the course of years had entirely re covered their strength. The testimony as to their former condition, and the evidence of their complete restoration, led him to purchase a plantation near Aiken, and enter upon the novel life of a southern farmer. Sunlight, fresh air, the opportunity of outdoor exercise everv dav (with •' j such as dampness, malaria, etc.,) con stitute the remedies which nature furnishes, in favored localities, for the healing of dsseased lungs, or indeed for almost any debilitated condition of the body. These he found there, and they brought back his lost strength, and he became again a well man. It is with his farming experience, how ever, that we have to do. His article is too long to be copied in full, but we make copious extracts. LIME FOR COTTON. We planted the first year but one acre of cotton. From reading agricul tural papers, and from observation, I had developed a theory that cdtton needed a great deal of lime. So in planting my experimental acre, I re solved to test that idea. I selected a piece of land with a sandy loam on the surface, but with a subsoil of yel low clay only about six inches from the top of the ground. About half the acre had been at one time a garden; the other half had never been manured. The rows were laid off three and a half feet a part; a furrow was opened, subsoiled, and two hundred and forty pounds of Peruvian Guano (Chincha) sprinkled in them. Four furrows, of a light one-horse plough, were then thrown into a bed over each manured furrow’, a shallow furrow was made in the bed with a narrow “bull tongue” plough, exactly over the guano, the cotton seed was sprinkled in this furrow, two bushels to the acre, and covered with 'a flat board fastened upon a plough-stock. All this was, of course, done by the direction of my foreman, as I knew’ nothing of preparing land for cotton. Now came my part, and when I ordered three barrels of air-slacked(stone)lime to be sowed broadcast upon the surface of the ground, over the newly-planted seed, there were predictions that the crop would be burned up by the lime, fife o¥ oWyed, andlhe"lime was spread as directed. The cotton came up in a few days and at once turned such a dark, greasy color, that my negro hands shook their heads, declaring that they never saw cotton look like that before. My foreman, however, was delighted, and foretold great things from the experiment. It was tended in the usual way, except that it grew r so fast that it could be ploughed but twice, instead of four times —the ordinary number. We had a drouth of over five weeks duration in July and August, but the subsoiling enabled the cotton to endure it without losing many forms. We gathered from the acre one thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven pounds of seed cotton, which, after being ginned and baled, sold in Augusta for a few cents over one hundred and four dollars. EXPERIENCE IN PLOUGHING. My farm seemed determined to make the stranger welcome in every way, and produced that year more fruit than ever since that time. The experiment with the one acre of cot ton had answered so well that I had determined to plant more another year; accordingly, the plows were started early in November, and in a few weeks my cotton field of twenty two acres was broken. A portion was broken with a two-horse Watt plough, and part with the ordinary (single horse) southern half-shovel. This was an experiment as to the effect of using different ploughs. I was very ignorant of all farm matters except stock; natural taste and surroundings had given me knowledge of cattle, mules and horses. Of hogs and sheep I had yet to learn. In the neighbor hood, there was great difference of opinion as to whether deep ploughing (which with us means about six inches) or shallow ploughing (three or four inches in depth) was best suited to our clay soils. Most southern farmers ploughed in the old way, and many of them made good crops. Some of the northern immigrants followed the southern fashion; others, like myself, experimented cautiously, and in one or two cases a double plow was used upon a light soil, with a sandy subsoil, making it for some years less fertile than when only the top soil was stirred. A CASE FOR DEEP PLOUGHING. If there was any one thing I was sure of as certainly suited to the long, dry summers of South Carolina up lands, I should have said subsoil plough ing was that thing. So I subsoiled all my cotton ground in March; put on most of it about two hundred pounds of an approved commercial fertilizer to the acre, bedded —thus burying my manure about five inches deep—and on the 15th of April I planted my seed with a Dow Law planter. Three acres and a half of the nineteen acres had been a peach orchard; this I treated differently. In the previous October (being satisfied that the orchard was too old to be profitable), I had the trees dug up, piled, and during the winter burned, roots and all. Now my nearest neighbor, from whom I purchased my farm, told me that he had never suc ceeded in making anything grow on that ground except peaches. He had planted it in corn, which died of some mysterious trouble when about three feet in height; later, he sowed oats, which had a similar fate at a much less altitude. This was unpromising. On examination of the soil, I found it on the surface like a bed of ashes. When you walked over it, you broke through a sort of crust; your shoes were cov ered with a grey, powdery dust, and it fpmned as if, but for the crust, a high soil aiM n iif/i rpninvpf] the ton which was to be found at varying depths, but never more than six inches, below the surface. Here seemed to me a case for deep ploughing. I reasoned that the surface being so poor the subsoil could do no harm on top, and putting the Watt plough at work, I broke the piece, turning up about two inches of subsoil to the surface and afterward, with a long fifteen inch bull-tongue, we brought up more of the red clay, and mixed the whole thoroughly with the surface soil. Early in March I hauled out and put into the drills fifty-two ox loads of poor “lot manure” to the acre, beneath which was put one hundred pounds of the “Stonewall” (an English manure). This was bedded and planted upon, but not sufficiently deep, as the first rain left the strawy manure exposed in many places and ruined the stand. The crop came up very quickly; the seed had been rolled in land plaster, and the first rain moistened it, and ‘plaster retaining the moisture, the cot ton soon showed above the soil in long, straight rows of broadish two-leaved plants. The stand on most of the land was fair, and fine weather, and the stimulus of the manure, caused a con siderable growth in a few days. The crop was worked with a half sweep, bar side to the row at the first working, the middle being cleaned with a full sweep. After the first working, the full twenty inch sweep was used and the cotton plowed four times in quick succession; it was hoed to a stand before the first ploughing, and once afterwards to clean out grass between the rows. The re sult on nineteen of the acres was four teen bales of about three hundred and seventy-five pounds each. don’t subsoil pipe-clay land. The other three acres proved a total failure, for the reason that this field had fiiio’ me clay, where I had so ingeniously dug ditches (which held water instead of draining the land) with my subsoil plough, the cotton on the three acres died—with “blight,” my neighbors said; blight being a name given to anything which kills cotton, by first causing the leaves to turn a rusty red, and then die and fall off; the entire plant dying also about the same time, leaving a few half-grown, partly open bolls, within which can be seen some sickly white flocks of cotton of almost no value. RULES DEDUCED FROM EXPERIENCE. From the experience of that year I deduced a few general rules which are, I think, applicable to any land of a similar character in the South Carolina uplands, where pine is the principal timber: 1. To make manure, keep your yards well filled with “pine straw, (pine needles, used for bedding cattle, horses, etc. ;)also bed your horses and mules heavily, and have a cellar, or some shelter, under which manure can be kept dry, and protected from the sun and wind. 2. Subsoil all land having red clay or yellow clay subsoil, but do not sub soil pipe clay land, unless first under drained. 3. Work a crop as fast as possible, and try to lay by early. If not large enough to shade the ground, and have to continue work, plough so as not to stir the surface more than half an inch in depth. 4. Lot or stable manure makes the best cotton if freely used. 5. Make your land very rich, and you will save in work. On very rich land two ploughing? and one hoeing are enough; poor land will need four or five ploughing?, and two hoeings — sometimes three. FALL PLANTED SMALL GRAINS. . During the three years spoken of, oats, spring and fall planting, had been tried, demonstrating the superiority of fall-planted crops. Corn had lieen planted every year, always with satis factory results. Sweet potatoes had also been an annual crop, hut uniform ly turned out badly, caused by my ig norance the first two seasons, and absence from home the last. Cattle, horses, sheep, poultry, hogs, etc., had all been raised successfully, and the prof its of the farm increased from these sources; financially the farming had been successful. HOW THE STRANGER WAS TREATED. Best of all, my health was complete ly restored, my lungs were pronounced sound again by the highest medical authority, and I, who went a stranger among a recently-conquered people, had made valued friends. Never during these years has any discourtesy been shown, but, on the contrary, kind ness, as unexpected as it was welcome, was lavished upon me. During ill ness in my family, a Southren lady came to our home, and remained nurs ing and housekeeping for more than two months, “because,” she said, “I could not bear to think of you all in trouble, so far from your relatives, with no one to help you ;” and to this day she makes light of the service, and claims to have “enjoyed the visit.” This is our experience with our white neighbors. HOW ABOUT THE BLACKS? “How about the blacks?” someone will ask. If carefully selected, and properly treated, they are very good servants, possessing, in many instances, the rare quality of personal attachment and devotion. The generation now ? growing up will not be as reliable, as truthful, or as hones*. mvefi 1 tnem oloimo Tiva.seJboig'* wfways so danger ous ; through their newspapers they have been made regtless and pleasure loving, and the few r educated specimens that have yet appeared have shown, many of them, a personal hostility to the whites, and a dislike of hard work, which argues ill for the future of a State w here they are in the majority. They are, however, dying much, more rapidly than the whites, and this, com bined with emigration, will, within the next decade, place the political power again in the possession of the white population —“a consummation devoutly to be washed. HOW FARMERS WASTE THEIR MANURE. The Crop Reports of the Georgia State Agricultural Department are in structive documents, always containing, in addition to consolidated returns from all parts of the State, some useful in formation or suggestions. Here is what Mr. Janes, the able and efficient Commissioner says in his September Report, on the waste of manure: It is a matter of surprise, that only fifteen per cent, of the farmers of Georgia save, under shelter, the manure from their stock. This is a record of deliberate and unpardonable waste. Animal manure exposed to the leaching effects of rain, and the evaporation of the sun, lose a large portion of their soluble plant food. Experiment shows that nearly one-half the value of animal manures are lost by such exposure. Farmers will consult economy by sheltering all the manure saved on their farms. In composting manures that have been exposed, it w ill be necessary to use more concentrated material to supply the w r aste thus occasioned. By composting such manures, at least six hundred of acid phosphate, and fifty pounds of sulphate of ammonia should be used to the ton, or six h pnogpnate,Composted with one thousand four hundred pounds of manure and cotton seed. LONG MOSS FOR IRISH POTATOES. The Tampa (Fla.) Guardian, of the 31st ult., says: “Mr. Samuel T. A. Branch has given us a novel way of planting Irish potatoes and preparing moss for mattresses at the same time, which is indeed a good idea: First dig out your trenches as deep as you desire them, then put a layer of green moss at the bottom; cut your potatoes and lay them on the moss, then put a layer of moss over them and throw over your dirt. Though the season be extremely dry the moss will keep moist sufficient to give you a larger yield of potatoes than’ you ever had before, white and clean as if they had been freshly washed in water, and the moss is now thoroughly dried and killed, and by washing and beating it a little you have a nice lot of moss ready for mat tress-making.” Boys, if a man comes along with a buggy and asks you to take a ride, do you peg it for home. He wants to steal you, and prove to the world that the average detective is no sharper than the average man who is not a detective. VOL. 1G —NO. 49 PARAGRAPHS OF THE PERIOD. To do business a man must have dollars and sense. One of the darkest moments in a boy’s life is when he suddenly reflects that he has just swallowed a dose of castor oil unconditionally. If, in instructing a child, you are vexed with it for want of adroitness, try, if you have never tried before, to write with you left hand, and then re member that a child is all left hand. It is estimated that the child popula tion between the age of six and sixteen in the United States and Territories is about 10,288,000, and that about 300,- 000 teachers are needed to educate this host of future citizens. A Louisville girl was shot in the foot a day or two ago, and the doctors are now engaged in mining for the ball. One of them has worked his passage into the foot for so great a dis tance that they are obliged to let his provisions down to him by a rope. Many very good people are annoyed by sleepiness in church. The follow ing remedy is recommended: Lift the foot seven inches from the floor, and hold it in suspense without sup-- port for the limb, and repeat the rem edy if the attack returns. It is estimated that the yield of gold and silver from the mines of Colorado Territory for the first six months of the present year foot up in gold $1,052,700, and silver $1,004,- 139. This is not supposed to include the products of the placer mines of the territory for that period. Either a man must be content with poverty all his life, or else be willing to deny himself some luxuries and save, to lav .the base of Independ ence in the future. But if a man defies the future, and spends all he earns (whether his earnings be one dollar or ten dollars every day)let him look for lean and hungry want at some future time —for it will surely come, no matter what he thinks. The Solace of Age.— Howe’er o’er youth’s unclouded sky The mists of grief may fall, And lift to heaven the pleading eye And prayer’s imploring call— Be sure that riper age will bring Occasions few nor brief, When mercy’s overshading wing Must send thee sweet relief. Be sure that when the hair grows gray, And .EQijtfc Js&em dim .awl jar. Bo that then the boon of prayer Most shows its priceless worth — A blessed guard against despair. A link ’tween heaven and earth. When Mother Eve the tempting fruit Plueked for her only kin, She then and there did institute A precedent for sin. She knew the apple tasted sweet, But thought not of its price, And said to Adam, “ Let us eat; It’s naughty, but it’s nice.” For several years past an Italian ge ologist has made a study of the trem blings or quakings of the earth, and more especially those which are so ex tremely light as not to be perceptible save by pendulums placed in the fields of microscopes. In one year he recog nized between 5,000 and 6,000 of these movements; and graphically represent ing the same over many years by a curve, he finds that the line corre sponds neither with the thermometric curve nor with the tidal phenomena, nor can it be brought into any relation with the distances or positions of the sun or moon. With the barometric curve, however, it is otherwise, and it appears that, in the large majority of the cases, the intensity of the move ments augmented with the lowering of the barometric column, as it—as the investigator states —the gaseous masses imprisoned in the superficial layers of the earth escaped more easily when the weight of the atmosphere diminished, which certainly is an interesting fact. —N. Y. Sun. Old Time Detectives. A New York paper speaking of the inefficiency and corruption of the detec tives of the present time relates this anecdote of a detective of the last generation: One of our banks kept losing money, only in small sums, yet the loss was constant and mysterious. A celebrated detective was called in. “Let. everv saia. —oena in everybody, one by one, who has had a chance to steal.” So the president, the cashier, the tellers, the book-keepers and clerks had a pri vate interview with the deteetive. Every one in the bank knew the pur pose of the visit, and all but one were slightly nervous and uncomfortable un der the searching questions of the chief. The last who entered was a nephew of the president. He walked in cool, unembarrassed and indifferent, and with an air that said “proceed. He was dismissed as well as the rest. The detective said not a word, left the bank, and in one week returned. He had been shadowing the president’s nephew. In a clear, fair hand, was written out the whereabouts of the young man for the past six days, the company he kept, what he drank, the hours he spent on the road, his night orgies, and all his movements by night and by day. Nobody in the bank knows to-day that the president’s nephew was the thief. That his health was not good, that he was traveling in Europe, and that his place in the bank was filled by another, was well known. The bank was saved from robbery, the family from dishonor, the detective commended for his skill and prudence, and all the happier for a check of SI,OOO.